


Hold Me While You Wait

by ThirdActLove



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: Askbox Fic, Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdActLove/pseuds/ThirdActLove
Summary: Neil has a drink in his left hand and John’s life in the other.
Relationships: Neil & The Protagonist (Tenet), Neil/The Protagonist (Tenet)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 95





	Hold Me While You Wait

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a prompt given to me on tumblr: "Neil and The Protagonist hug for the first time." Send me more prompts at @ithappensoffstage!
> 
> The title comes from Lewis Capaldi's song 'Hold Me While You Wait'.
> 
> This fic doesn't necessarily take place within my Instinct Series, but it draws The Protagonist's name and some characterization from it, so I'm going to recommend you read it anyway if you want more of my Protagoniel musings! https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376874
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Enjoy!

Neil has a drink in his left hand and John’s life in the other.

He meets John’s eyes across the table. They’re amused, bright, not a hint of suspicion or fear to be found. He looks amazing tonight, too; a burgundy suit and a black tie. Neil wants to ruin his perfect composure more than anything.

At John’s side, Ives coughs pointedly. “Rookie!” he growls in his characteristically boorish manner. “Make your move.”

Neil glares. He hasn’t been a rookie for a long time, but Ives won’t stop with the nickname. So Neil puts his hand down, takes a sip of his vodka tonic, and shifts around in his seat before picking his cards back up and fanning them dramatically across the table.

“Royal flush, friend. Pay up.”

Wheeler cheers. Ives stares in disbelief. And John, John never loses that small smile even as he pushes the rest of his chips to Neil’s side of the table. Despite the accusations thrown his way by Ives and--occasionally--Wheeler, Neil doesn’t cheat. Doesn’t count cards, even though it’d be damn easy to. He’s just a damn good poker player. They all warned John he would lose.

And lose he did.

Neil laughs, full and hearty, and everyone joins in; Ives, too after Neil buys another round of whiskey.

“Shall we have another game, or did you all take too hard a beating?” Neil’s got a mountain of multicolored poker chips in front of him like some sort of despot and a grin even bigger than the pile.

Usually, when Neil goads his team, Ives is the first to take the bait. But it’s John who speaks up first. “I think we lost our dignity a few hands ago.”

Neil blushes as he meets his gaze. “Dignity’s still intact.”

“Is that the move, then? Smooth talk the boss until he’s broke?” Slapping Neil on the back, Ives stands and nods at his friends. “Lady, gents… Cheers.” He takes Neil’s whiskey shot and pours in back in one quick motion. Then he smiles, hugs Wheeler where she sits, and says, “All of you can bugger off. Good night!”

“Always a pleasure, Ives,” John tells the man.

“Never a pleasure, Ives!” Neil calls after his retreating form.

Ives flips him off without looking. He weaves through a few people gathered near the dancefloor, pays his tab, and then hugs his coat closer as he steps out into the night. Neil, John, and Wheeler watch him go from where they are at the poker tables.

Most of the games around them have also wrapped up. It’s absolutely time to call it, but Neil doesn’t want to. This is their typical Friday night, but Neil’s veins are even more charged than usual, electricity jumping across his skin every time John says his name. The attraction is cliché, for sure: teacher and student, recruiter and recruited; Neil would roll his eyes at himself if he wouldn’t be caught, so he just swipes his hands over his face and fakes a yawn.

The way John looks at him after makes him feel like he’s been caught anyway.

Wheeler leaves, too. She pulls her coat from the back of the chair. “If you two will excuse me,” she explains as she circles behind Neil, “there’s a gal at the bar who’s been smiling at me for the last ten minutes.”

“Wheeler--” Neil warns, but she’s already ruffled his hair into ruins on her way past him. “Have fun,” he grumbles at her.

She leans down to throw her arms around his shoulders. Squeezing gently, she whispers, “Only if you do.”

And then there were two.

Neil twirls a poker chip over his knuckles. “Thanks for coming out tonight,” he says to John.

They both get up and start to gather their belongings. John answers, “Of course. You invited me.”

“Mm. Not many S.O.s would stoop to poker with their field teams. In my experience, at least.”

“I’m not most S.O.s.”

“No,” Neil murmurs, “you most certainly are not.” He hoists his bag of poker chips. “Shall we?”

He cashes in, and then they leave the club together, Neil’s pockets significantly heavier than when they all walked into the place. Emerging onto the New York City streets is… less than ideal. It’s loud, it stinks, and people shout at Neil and John to quit standing around.

“I’m so glad this lead brought us to America,” Neil huffs. “Charming place.”

John chuckles. “You get used to it. Plus, it’s nicer when you have someone to show you around.”

Neil raises his eyebrows. “Is that an invitation?”

Checking his watch, John replies, “Maybe later. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“All work and no play,” Neil recites. He holds out his arms and spins, the liquor emboldening his already flirtatious mood.

“You know I wish I could.”

Neil saunters closer. “Do I?” And there’s two inches of height between them, Neil looking down with a smirk and something too close to playful for his boss, yet Neil’s heart still heaves like John’s the one making the move. They stare at one another longer than they should.

Too soon, John says, “Good night, Neil.”

It’s not cold, but it’s final. Neil retreats out of John’s space, biting the corner of his lip as he tries to quell the disappointment. John seems to sense this, because he catches Neil’s wrist. “Good night,” he whispers again, then folds Neil against him. One arm on his waist, the other winding around his back and shoulder. The hug is softer than Neil expected, and John holds him tighter than Neil expected, as well. It’s new. Not strange, though, new like a new suit: fits just right, feels like it always belonged draped over you.

The city lights shine. Car headlights cut through the dark. Neil’s pulse pounds so loudly he thinks John must be able to hear it over all the shouts and steam vents and strangers’ conversations.

John pulls away first. His hands linger on Neil’s forearms for a while until he tells him, “I’ll see you in a few days. Keep your team out of trouble.”

“Y-yeah,” Neil promises. He watches John go, warmth still on his clothes and skin, a ghost of their embrace. He watches John go, thinking, _If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it._

“John, wait!” Neil calls.

John turns, already smiling. “Hurry up, then!” he yells back. He keeps walking, expecting Neil to simply catch up.

So, Neil does.


End file.
